


A Dance of Swords

by JustCallMeLogan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, logicality - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCallMeLogan/pseuds/JustCallMeLogan
Summary: Virgil wasn't sure what he was expecting when he arrived Raineboro, although he was starting to get the play on the word rainbow. And how bad can a town called Rainbow be?//SPOILER ALERT! For the newest Sanders Sides video as of 25th June 2019.Also, I realize only after I gave this a title that this shares a title with one of my favorite Steven Universe songs, but no, the title was not inspired by SU. It is a complete coincidence.





	1. Rainclouds

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The "Sanders Sides" series](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/497389) by Thomas Sanders. 



Chapter I: Rainclouds

Virgil wasn't sure what he was expecting when he arrived in Raineboro, although he’s starting to get the play on the word _rainbow_. And how bad can a place called “Rainbow” be? The tiny town is adorable and homey. All the houses are colorful and quirky… and _expensive_. Seriously, how is he going to afford the standard of living here? This is a place where all the traffic lights are painted black, where the kids pedal everywhere on heavy hybrid cruisers, and where cars actually stop at crosswalks. It's a place where everyone eats outside on the patios and terraces when it’s especially nice (and it is), where string lights connect one streetlamp to the next, and where half of the buildings in town are brick and adobe with chimneys, balconies and flowerboxes of the most beautifully colored flowers and plants, really playing up the Mediterranean village aesthetic. It's a place where heat means festivals and picnics in the park as opposed to hiding from the sun. Rainb— _Raineboro_ probably looks perfect on a Christmas card and Virgil almost couldn't wait for winter. It‘s a far cry from Spring Garden. All that’s missing from this picture is the beach, a lake, or, like, _water_ , and it would be something out of a romantic, seaside, foreign fairytale. After all, where do the rains of Rainbow come from? Where do they go?

But that's not why he’s here. No, he is here because Herron University is one of the closest four-year schools with a Bachelor’s program for film and television, which is nice because it means moving to New Jersey to _chill_ , something he really needs for his last two years. He's already twenty-two and he refuses to lose another year from his education. And since HU and Rainbow are pretty much fused and tangled within each other, being "on campus" doesn't mean being confined away from the _fun_.

The only downside is his new apartment—a studio on the ground floor of a building practically on a corner—with a roommate, some dude called “Jake Remington”. What kind of a name is that? He's seen the place already, of course, but not Remington. It’s depressing, dark, damp and cold. The place probably floods, too. If he were on his own there in such a cramped space, it would be fine. He’d just never invite people over, especially since he doesn't have much stuff to begin with. He just doesn't want a roommate to _see_ that he doesn't have much stuff to begin with.

Kids fly past him on cruiser bikes, snickering, pulling him from his thoughts. He moves in time not to be run down or splashed by a puddle one of them speeds through. He needs a bike, like, yesterday. Hell, yester _year_ —if he had one, he might not have had to leave Philadelphia. At the Caffeinated Cyclist, four hundred dollars seems to be the average. Four _hundred_ dollars?! Is there a Walmart around here where he can get a bike? There's a Whole Foods at one end of town and a Wegman's at the other. There's a plaza with an REI _and_ an L. L. Bean. There's a mall in Cherry Hill. Are there even any fast food places in this town? Not a Panera Bread (yes, they have one of those), but a Wendy’s, a Chick-fil-A even. He just wanted a _bike_. He wants a burger, too, actually.

What he finds is a Starbucks. "What can I get you?" a barista wearing shades and a nametag that reads "Remy" asks.

"Chocolate Chip Frapp. Venti."

"That all?" He likes this Remy's voice. It sounds like he lives in this café.

"That's it," he answers. "Will you put that under 'Virgil'?"

Remy frowns. "Virgil _Thomas_?"

He blinks. How would Remy—? Remy... _Remington?_ "Are you... Jake Remington?"

Remy rolls his eyes. "Gurl, do I _look_ like a 'Jake Remington'?” He really doesn’t, and Virgil smiles, relieved. He looks like a Remy with his narrow shoulders and a lanky build, his lip gloss and black nails. “It's just Remy." He extends a hand.

Eyeing him cautiously, Virgil shakes it. "Well...this happened."

"But you look like a Jake,” Remy continues, scribbling Virgil's name on a cup. “Or an Anthony. You're not a musician, are you?"

He frowns; he gets that a _lot_. "Not exactly." He hands over a debit card.

Remy sets the cup down and charges the card. "Do you fence?"

"Uh...no." Virgil didn’t get _that one_ at all. He takes the card back, debating whether Remy just gave him a clue or if he’s looking into the question too deeply.

“Do you actually like coffee?”

“Not at all. Will you add whipped cream?”

“Come _on_ , babes! You’re, like, the only ‘Virgil’ in Rains; give me something here!”

“I’m your roommate.”

Remy huffs, practically defeated. “Do you draw?”

Ah. There’s one. “Yeah. For myself.”

"Hmm." Remy tips his sunglasses down, revealing his brown eyes as he studies him. After an uncomfortable moment for Virgil, Remy shrugs, pushes his shades back up, and fills his order. "You'll do."

He'll _do_. _This_ is his roommate! What was he supposed say? "Um, thanks?" He follows Remy to the pickup counter. “So, is that what they call this place sometimes? "Rains"?”

Remy opens his mouth to answer but rolls his eyes as the door opens and three people shouting in Italian almost shove Virgil out of the way to get to the main counter cutting in front of at least four now-bitter people in line. _Excuse_ them! How could they just—?

Whoa…

Okay. How are _all_ of them this attractive? He takes a seat across from them to get a better look. The shorter man, about his height, has brilliant blue eyes and blond hair. Of the two men, he's the prettier. Athletic looking and tan, with softer features, clear skin, and long eyelashes. It makes Virgil feel like a waif in comparison. Blondie argues with the other Italian man, and from what he can make out of the conversation, his sister. She has long dark hair, green eyes and full lips. And she's all curves and softness and smooth skin. She only interjects into the conversation when she isn't rolling her eyes, and she practically snaps orders at Remy who doesn’t offer one word in return. But the _brother_? He's tall and built, he has broad shoulders and, _God_ , he bets his jaw could cut glass— _easy, Virgil_ , he tells himself. _He's a_ guy _, not a diamond_. He is just a guy. He's just a guy. Just a guy... _An unfairly, unbelievably attractive guy, with sparkling eyes and wavy chestnut hair_ —

"...Virgil... Virgil!"

He'll never admit to almost jumping out of his skin just now. His eyes land on Remy, who raises a Frappuccino with whipped cream in his direction. His legs are shaky as he stands, but he slips past the newcomers. The smaller man raises an eyebrow as he passes and Virgil feels his cheeks burn, thoroughly mortified. _Damn it_ , they caught him staring.

He reaches to take his drink when Remy leans in. "Honey, trust me," he whispers. "I say this will all the platonic love… and _sympathy_ I now have for you in my heart as my roomie: you cannot afford them."

What a slap in face! He feels his heart sink and his hackles rise. _Screw you!_ It isn't any of Remington's business! He thinks he’s looking at their money? He’s looking at _people_ ; so, what the hell is that supposed to mean? He steals a quick glance at them again, only noticing this second time they _are_ dressed like they own half the town. He snatches the cup. "So what?" He turns away, pretty positive they're still staring, and probably laughing, at him with their expensive clothes and judgmental gazes. "I can look."

“And of _course_ , they call it ‘Rains’!” Remy drops a couple ragged towels on the ominous puddle growing at the door of their apartment. As Virgil cooks a late dinner for the two of them, grilled cheese sandwiches with parsley, mozzarella and mushrooms, a dark monsoon rages outside, clashing obscenely with the picture-perfect Rainbow he’d seen just hours ago. The walls vibrate with thunder and the lights flicker. _Please don’t let us lose power_. He can barely see the bike across the street through the wall of rain. They are going to freeze in the winter, he’s sure of it. “That’s all it ever does here! It will be hot and sticky or cold enough for snow, but you can depend on winds and rains,” Remy rants.

“So, it’s always rainy in Rainbow,” he muses aloud.

Remy flips through Netflix. “Oh, it _hails_ sometimes. And we get hurricanes. Or sometimes, the winds will blow you out of town. And we get put on tornado watch even though this is Jersey.”

Virgil eyes the towels at the door; they’re already soaked through. “Comforting.”

Remy plops onto the sofa. “I call it climate change. It was never like this fifteen years ago, and _that_ is frightening.” As if to further his point, Remy selects _Wall-E_.

“And is there any place to eat or shop around here that isn’t strictly healthy?” Virgil groans.

Remy’s eyes are glued to the television. “Didn’t you research Raineboro before you decided to live here? Weather patterns, crime rates, school districts, eateries, emergency services, morgue?”

Virgil sighs and flips the sandwiches. “I needed a ‘cheap place near Herron U’. I guess I got what I paid for.”

“I’ll give you a hint, then. You’ll probably need a car, or gas money, if you want pizza and burgers. Even Taco Bell is about five-and-a-half miles away.”

And there isn’t much in the fridge yet either. “Tacos sound nice right now.”

“You’ll feel better about actually _living_ here when you meet people. Joan and Talyn are throwing a grad party. They want to meet my roomie before they move away.”

“Joan and Talyn?”

“Friends of mine, moving to Philly.”

Oh. “Philly. Where?”

“Germantown, I think. You’ll feel even _better_ when you meet Roman and Logan.”

He shudders. “ _More_ people?” The idea of talking to _anyone_ right now is too much for one day. This conversation is exhausting as it is. How is he supposed to—?

“What’s wrong with people?”

“ _People_ just… I don’t feel like meeting people right now.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it sounds awful. He feels awful, but he just wants to get used to things first. Remy is a huge help as a roommate though. He’s “known everyone for centuries” and Virgil can use some friends, but not _now_. Now, he needs to unpack his _head_. “I just wanna… chill.” _And by the way_ … “Besides, can I ‘afford’ to be friends with any of them? Or do they _all_ suck?”

Remy turns around. “Everybody sucks everywhere.”

“Yeah, but do _Rains_ people suck less?”

“You’re gonna have to meet them. _You_ kind of suck.”

Does he, now? “Do you ever take the shades off inside or are they just a part of your own haughty façade?”

“Look, if you’re still mad about what I said at Starby’s—” He is “—I just don’t want them to hurt you! The Fortunatos are real snobs. The eldest brothers are _always_ fighting, the sister is _basically_ engaged to Devlin Herron, and Mrs.—excuse me— _la signora Fortunato_ —”

“Remy,” Virgil interrupts, sensing a rant, “the Fortu-whatever-it-is? I really don’t care. And they wouldn’t be interested in _me_ anyway.” He takes the sandwiches out of the skillet, letting them cool a bit. Lightning flickers across the sky, thunder following soon after.

Remy glances away. “Oh.”

 _Uh-oh_. He chops the sandwiches in half, wishing he’d put all of his nervous, snappy energy into preparing the food instead. How did he manage to sour what should be a pretty light conversation? Remy just wants him to meet people and be comfortable, _welcome_ even, and here he is snarling at everything and everyone. “Look. These ‘Fortunate’ people? They just _sound_ awful,” he explains quickly, serving Remy his sandwich. “I just don’t want to scare everyone else away just yet.” He wishes he could put more of his anxious thoughts into words, especially in a way delicate enough not to insult Remy or his friends anymore.

Remy softens a bit and takes the sandwich. “Sure. And… you don’t scare me.” _Oh, that’s…good_ , he decides. At least Remy doesn’t _want_ to hate him.

He’s still desperate for a subject-change. He turns to watch the movie, biting into his own sandwich. “So…what about Joan and Talyn?”

“Party on Friday. You’re coming because there’s free food. Wear a jacket.” Remy taps a finger on the side of his plate. “If you agree to come, I’ll order us a pizza tomorrow.”

Virgil manages half a smile; at least Remy didn’t _totally_ suck. “Cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please grill me for typos.


	2. One Purple Boi

Chapter II: One Purple Boi

Roman throws himself at his opponent like a stunt double in a movie. It’s hot, damn it! It’s 12-14 and Roman just needs three touches, _three!_ And he wins. If they were crossing sabres, he would have destroyed Logan by now. Foil fencing takes too long! There are too many places to hit off target, and Roman didn’t like stabbing when you could cut— _that’s_ what swordplay is!—, and foil’s like a chess game whereas sabre is like a chess _waltz_ , and the bruises you get from foils feel like a cop-out versus the marks of honor you earn fencing sabres. Once, they had a duel crossing a sabre and a foil. It was quite a match! Patton even stopped keeping score just to watch.

But Roman’s putting up a fight even now. He isn’t about to let Logan smear him.

Logan parries and does this spin-riposte thing while Roman is still post-lunge and the score counter shrieks. Roman sighs. Seriously, _how_ does Logan do that? How does Logan pull off foil so… effortlessly? He pulls off his mask and watches Logan pull of his own, adjust his glasses and salute, all fluidly. Roman salutes back casually and shakes his hand. “Screw you, Sanders!” he says with a smile.

Logan smirks. “I have a B for a reason.”

“Yeah, you with your gold medals,” he calls after him, bending his foil straight again.

It’s true. Logan’s a superhero! Apart from Roman himself, Logan has the highest USFA rating in the gym—a B! But _Logan_ was going back to the Olympics, Roman was sure of it. He marvels, as he always does, at the fact that here Logan is—a USA Olympian, a _superhero_ —working a _desk job_ as his club manager in tiny Rains, New Jersey. True, he’s competing and training for Olympic Qualifiers and other competitions (some, Logan admitted, for the money), but Roman can’t wait to see his best friend on television again.

“If you practiced _both weapons_ more, you might actually beat me, Princey,” Logan answers smugly.

“I’d whip your ass in sabre. Literally!” Roman flourishes the foil at no one, wielding it like a sabre. “It’s 15-12! I gave you a run for your money.”

Logan raises an eyebrow while an amused smirk plays on his lips. “I had to leave you _some_ dignity.” Roman lets out what Remy—another fencer lurking around here somewhere—loves to call an “offended Princey noise” as Logan grins.

“So, I found your ‘Purple Boy’,” Logan muses after two had a quick shower and a change of clothes. Without looking at him, Logan knows Roman’s head whipped up as he’d said it. He sips his lemonade as though he didn’t say anything.

“And?” Roman practically shouts. Half the other patrons in the café, mostly other fencers, fall silent and look up, staring at their coaches in confusion. Logan smirks, casually scrolling through his phone as if Roman isn’t absolutely _suffering_ in front of him.

The Purple Boy had locked eyes with him one day at HU’s library from the music section while Patton was helping him donate some of his old books and older issues of _American Fencing_. Roman hated to part with them, as some of the issues have Logan and some of his other friends in them and they were a chronicle of their history, but Roman truly did not need them anymore, despite his nostalgia. Besides! He and Logan are going to Maryland to compete in two weeks. He was just handing over his _most prized_ edition, where eighteen-year-old Logan had just won his first medal and was standing all wide-eyed, smiley and adorable in his picture somewhere in the middle of the issue when he spotted an unusually patterned black and purple hoodie wander into his line of sight. Well, and a boy, too. He had a campus map in hand and glided about on purple rollerblades. He was…

Breathtaking! He was about Devlin Herron’s height only…

Only his hair was a rich purple color.

Only he was small and slender. What a little creature he was! Roman could probably pick him up with _one_ arm!

Only he had soft-looking skin and lips, like flower petals, and elegant fingers and—

The Purple Boy was looking at him now. How long has he been staring? His eyes were lovely, dark and deep enough to get lost in, amplified by the dark eyeshadow, and he could have sworn the boy was blushing. Though, he still couldn’t place what shade of purple his hair was. It was almost a…mulberry? No, too dark. Mauve? No, no… Light plum, maybe?

Suddenly, his dark eyes were icy, and Roman flinched. It wasn’t out of annoyance or unease; it was out of disdain, dis _gust_. This delicate creature _hated_ him. _What? Why?_ Somewhere behind him, Patton was asking, “Do you know him, Ro?” _Did_ Roman know him from somewhere? Before he could think of an answer, the boy was already skating out the door, a blur of black and purple.

“Lo, come on!” Roman’s cheeks heat up at how needy and desperate he sounds. But the Purple boy is still in his head. “I just don’t get how he hates me so much. I’m being hated by someone I don’t even know.”

Sympathy seeps into Logan’s smug expression as he looks up. “It’s probably not your fault, Roman. Perhaps he was having a bad day,” Logan hypothesizes.

“No,” Roman counters firmly, “not from the way he looked at me. It was like he couldn’t _stand_ me.” He chuckles, blushing a little more. “He’s like an angry kitten that could murder me.”

“A kitten? _Murder_ you?”

“I don’t understand why one of the loveliest creatures I’ve ever seen hates me!”

Logan debates speaking for a moment, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Perhaps… your _broth_ —”

“I don’t want to think about my brother being anywhere near that beautiful creature now, Logan,” Roman insists.

Logan huffs. “If anyone can make someone _hate_ another person,” he continues quickly, “it’s probably Remus.”

“Which is why _I_ need to find him! _Say_ something to him!” Roman sat back, miserably. “I’m sick of this evil twin game Remus insists upon. We’re not _child_ ren.”

Logan shrugs. “You _are_ competitive.”

Before Roman can argue, the door to the café opens and a sad-looking Patton trudges inside, soaked from the rain. _A sad Patton?_

“Patton,” Logan says, with such softness, shock and sympathy that it shakes Roman to his core.

In fact, he’d said it _so_ softly, there’s no possibility Patton could have heard it from this far away, but Patton immediately perks up at Logan’s voice. When his eyes land on the two of them, the biggest, dopiest grin illuminates his features like the sun. Roman can’t help but smile back, even knowing that this smile isn’t for him. “Hi, Logan!” Patton almost shouts. He makes his way to the table and crushes Logan in a hug and Logan yelps. The force of it is so much so that it nearly topples the table over and Roman grips it before their lunch falls onto the floor. It’s completely adorable watching Logan become flustered every time Patton nearly bowls him over. Logan grips at the table to steady them before ultimately giving in and hugging Patton back awkwardly. Between the guy Roman fences and the guy getting smothered right now, Logan seems like two different people.

After what must be a full minute, Patton pulls away beaming. “You guys should have been at the library today!” he says.

“Hello, Patton,” is all Logan manages, blushing as he rights himself and pulls a seat over for Patton.

“We had a book fair and guess who I saw,” Patton prompts.

Roman gives it some thought. “My mother?”

“Nope!”

Logan ponders. A look of unease passes over his face, one Roman knew all too well, but he shakes it off and thinks it over a little more. After a moment, he guesses, “Remy.”

No.

As if prompted, Remy appears in the doorway, Starbucks cup in hand. Roman rolls his eyes. An employee drinking Starbucks is not good for business for The Castle’s café. The Castle itself doesn’t have the best business, not in the summer while all the fencers are on summer vacation or competing. Roman didn’t mind for now; business would pick up again in the winter. Remy at least has the decency to toss it in the trash as he assumes an apron and prepares for his shift. Roman smiles at Remy’s sunglasses. Despite company policy, he knows they’re never coming off.

Roman turns his attention back to the conversation. Logan and Patton are talking about different books and tournaments, and things that happened that day, and Patton doesn’t even look sad anymore. Actually, he’s blushing… as usual. Patton has had a crush— _No_ , Roman reminds himself, _è vero amore._ True love. Patton had been _in love_ with Logan probably long before Roman knew either of them. They had known each other in school, graduated high school and college together, and now work together here at The Castle as fencing instructors. Patton mostly teaches the younger children and beginners; Logan mostly trains here then travels all across the country to compete. As for Patton, both Roman and Logan agree it’s a pity Patton doesn’t compete. Logan even mused to him several times that Patton was one of the most talented fencers he knew, which was the best compliment Roman ever heard himbreathe about… _anyone_.

But Roman sees it in Patton’s face, in his eyes: He hasn’t stopped smiling or blushing yet. He has that dreamy look about him, like a schoolboy in love. He already talks about Logan all the time and is always blue whenever Logan goes far away. Roman sees it in Logan, too: things he finds annoying in other people make Logan smile when he sees Patton doing the same things; Logan sneakily looks up the slang phrases and idioms Patton says, similarly to how Patton makes no secret of looking up the long vocabulary words Logan vocalizes; and Logan always smiles whenever Patton appears, even after he attacks him with hugs. And they both value each other greatly for their intelligence. If they were dating, they’d never have a dull conversation whether it be about feelings and current events or books and history. Roman often wonders, what if one day they just ran off together? Logan would take Patton everywhere with him and they would love and take care of each other and then elope somewhere. He’s prepared to duel both of them at once if they were to elope in Italy without him! Roman smiles at the scores of romantic ideas he paints in his mind whenever he looks at them… but _damn it, Logan!_ This was the only way Roman knew Logan to be so completely _clueless!_ Logan always says Patton is his best friend and that he’s so lucky to have him, that he understood feelings, and he was a ray of sunshine in his life of cold, monotonous competition. And it’s sinking Roman’s ship knowing Logan will probably never know of Patton’s feelings even if they hit him in the face!

The more he thinks of the tragedy that is Patton and Logan’s nonexistent relationship, the more his thoughts wander back to the Purple Boy. The boy who _hates_ him. What did Remus do now? What did he _say_ and make him _think_? What’s his name even? How old is he? Oh, God! He hadn’t thought of that before! The thought of the object of his affections being a teenager, even an _adult_ -teenager, makes him cringe. Roman is twenty-six and sincerely hopes his crush isn’t creepy before it’s even begun. He _is_ small. A wave of guilt washes over him. What if _that’s_ why he’s so disgusted by him? _Is_ he underage?! Oh, how he hates this! This not-knowing, this being elated, miserable, guilty and anxious all at once— _does he even_ like _guys?!_

“I know that face, gurl.” Remy plops into the last seat at the table, pushing a black coffee toward Roman. “Who is he?” he demands.

Roman sighs and takes a sip. “I don’t know.”

“He’s your roommate.”

Roman nearly chokes and spits everywhere. He stares at Logan who smirks back.

Realization (and maybe guilt?) crosses Remy’s features and confusion washes over Patton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please grill for typos.


	3. Mood Swings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, shorter chapter. Readers, please note that NONE of the contact information in... any of this work is real. Please do not look any of it up. However, the Fencing Academy of Philadelphia (which IS a real place) would love to have you compete for them! 😉  
> Also, is this just filler? It feels like it's filler. So, I might update later; suggestions are welcome.

Chapter III: Mood Swings

Remus Fortunato. His name is Remus Fortunato, or at least that’s what it says in an email written by Devlin Herron:

> _"Mr. Virgil Thomas,_
> 
> _It has come to my attention that you are a student at Herron University and are seeking suitable employment. I have viewed your résumé and we at the Palace Fencing Academy believe you have skills beneficial to our company. We currently seek a reliable candidate for a sports videographer position. The position is perfect for college students and recent college graduates, we offer flexible schedules, competitive pay, and employee discounts on most products available._
> 
> _Feel free to respond to this email with your interest, or email Mr. Remus Fortunato at PalaceFencingNJ@gmail.com_
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Devlin Herron_  
>  _Manager_  
>  _The Palace Fencing Academy_  
>  _1600 Sagebrooke Rd._  
>  _Raineboro, NJ_  
>  _(860)563-4000_  
>  _PalaceFencingNJ@gmail.com”_

Virgil took a vicious bite of his pizza, willing the email to mention more about pay or whether “flexibility” means actually getting some decent (possibly semi-consistent) hours, but the name _Herron_ sticks out to him. He remembers that Remy mentioned him, something about him dating Remus’s sister. Thinking back to Remus, he can’t get the frustrating man out of his head. It’s like he’s two different people—one moment he’s shoving people aside in line and the next he’s staring at him in the library as though he were seeing him for the first time, as though he were… interested.

 _No, he isn’t, Virgil_ , he told himself. Starbucks guy was too full of himself.

Anyway, Virgil doesn’t want another videography position right now. Between Rainbow’s stormy mood swings, not having any real transportation, and no other income, his unpleasant memories of freelance videography were beginning to resurface. He was always squeezed somewhere too far away to sit on the bleachers, too close to the sidelines, or given the most finicky equipment and “rain gear” to work with; he was always working in the intense, frigid winds and rain until his hands were stiff and his feet frozen and his body soaked to the bone, or in the _scorching_ heat; no matter how lightly he dressed, or how much he prayed he had enough water and _lemonade_ to stay alert, he became too hot to want to move, fearing he would collapse. It was the life he wanted—he had to start somewhere, and after years of doing it, he’d learned enough tricks to make it bearable, but it was still grueling work and for only about a hundred bucks a day every _once_ in a while. He knows if it were more consistent, he’d be used to it by now, but with the work being so sporadic and especially strenuous on his back in reality, sometimes he feels like fainting when the day is over. It makes a job on campus sound like piece of cake.

A bubbly librarian called Patton told him perhaps he’d be able to find Professor O’Hara to talk about getting a job in Donovan Hall, the media arts building. That’s why he was in the library to begin with; he was _looking_ for Donovan Hall. Patton had even printed out a map and pointed it out to him, which was actually really nice. Virgil even decided to chat with him. They talked about Rainbow and Virgil being a new student here and, _poof_ , he’d made another friend. Patton was an adorably upbeat contrast to Remy, and at the mention of the name Logan, Virgil knew it’d been a great idea to stick around for a minute. When he asked if Patton was a student here, Patton just laughed and said he’d graduated years ago. He wanted to ask more, but everything in his head blurred when Remus appeared. Virgil quickly excused himself and hid in music section, at first there was the loud, obnoxious half-Italian, half-English greeting and Patton shushing him keeping his own giggles at bay (seriously, how could anyone be so adorable?).

He’d waited for a long time until he left, and Virgil reappeared, letting out a sigh. Screw the Fortunate dude and his stupid handsome face and strong looking arms! Virgil waited a little longer in the music section, preferring to kill some time while the guy probably got into his car or whatever. He doesn’t want to see him, okay? Besides, the library had the Neighbourhood and the 1975. They had Evanescence, MCR, Fall Out Boy, Paramore and Twenty One Pilots. They had old Michael Jackson and Prince CDs, too, and TSFH, musicals, and soundtracks. They had a nice, little… uh, library of music.

But he wasn’t safe, because when he looked up, there he was. Remus. He was just _staring_ at him. Virgil supposed he deserved that, after pretty much ogling him at Starbucks. Goodness, he was so handsome, and he looked almost… surprised? Like he’d never seen him before. As if he and his friends didn’t shove him out of the way in front of like twenty people. Unsure what to do with the attention, he scowled. Remus was playing with him, or maybe he was somewhat amused by him and playing it off in front of his other friends, or maybe he was—

Remus flinched in shock. It was almost funny having someone taller than him be intimidated by him. _Ha, jerk_. But then Patton was looking, and Virgil had to get out of here, _now_ , before things got weird. Remus he could handle… a second time. But Patton uttered a quiet “Do you know him, bro?” as he skated out. He didn’t look back.

He startles a bit, knocking over a couple CDs, as Remy lets out a snore from the top bunk of their beds. He turns over in his sleep away from the windows. Virgil chuckles; he’ll have to disappear before he wakes up. He’ll also have to thank Remy again for letting him borrow his old rollerblades later as well, but their relationship is still a bit on the rocky side and Remy was started to get anxious that Virgil hasn’t found any work yet. Not that Virgil expected to find work in less than a week, but with Remy being as sassy and dramatic as he is, he doesn’t want to upset him into suggesting he move out already. Goodness. He’s also still nervous about Joan and Talyn’s party. Friday is only a few nights away and he knows only two kids in town. And now Fortunato is using his minions to phish him for jobs. Creep. So far, it’s the only offer he’s gotten, and at least it’s in his field of study. Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair and files the email away under “potential internships” in his mind while clicking away, opting to compose a new email to O’Hara instead. He’s going to be his advanced film professor this semester as well and it’d be nice to get ahead of the game.

A half hour later, he slings his laptop bag slung over his shoulder as he silently slips outside. A few feet outside and Virgil feels a drop hit his bangs. _Damn_. Sure enough, the sky was already a frightening shade of grey and the wind was getting rougher. _Seriously! What is it with all the rain here?_ He checks his phone, convinced it was never like this in Philly, and scoffs at the deceptively sunny icon at the top of his home screen. He doesn’t wait for the weather features to update as he rushes back inside and grabs his black raincoat before hurrying off to the library.

“Hi, Virgil!” Patton greets him again.

Virgil smiles as he peels off his soaked raincoat. “This town is going to drown me.”

“Aww! Don’t say that. After all, you always see a rainbow after a bit of rain.”

_Huh. I guess so._

“What can I help you with today, kiddo?”

Virgil chuckles. He’ll never admit how endearing it is that Patton calls everyone younger than him a “kiddo”, but it doesn’t lessen the awkwardness of Virgil’s question. “Well, actually…” How he was supposed to ask about the Fortunatos without trying to pry or sound creepy is difficult. “Uh, you know Remus Fortunato?”

Something dark flickered in his eyes before Patton beamed soft smile at him. “Yes! For years now! I work with Remus’s brother, Roman, at the Castle Fencing Academy.”

The _Castle?_ “Not the _Palace_ Fencing Academy?” Virgil asks curiously.

Patton waves this away. “Oh, no,” he answers. “That’s Remus’s school. Roman’s school is Castle.” He hesitates a bit before continuing. “He’s a… one of the best people, Roman.”

“It’s just that, uh, Remus offered me a job.”

“Oh.” Is Patton disappointed? “Congrats on the offer! What kind of work is it, kiddo?”

“Videography,” Virgil grunts out. He didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but wishes O’Hara would get back to him sooner, even if it _is_ between semesters.

Patton coos sympathetically. “Aww, you don’t seem happy about that.”

“I’ve had a ton of videography jobs. I just want something a bit more steady.” He smiles sadly. “Wish I could work here.” He really does. A library would be prefect. It’s quiet, it’s relatively easy to navigate, he’d be able to read while he was working, but no positions were open for students or external candidates because… reasons.

“I wish I could just hand you a job. You seem so nice! Logan will like you.”

“Who exactly _is_ Logan?”

“Only my best friend in the world! Oh, I’ve known him forever.” Virgil smirks at Patton’s enthusiasm. He knows he’s in for his whole life story, but Patton looks so happy...

_Remus smiles at him like nothing else matters in the world, like he’s precious and beautiful. He cups his face gently, caressing his cheek, and Virgil can’t help it; he shudders. But Remus doesn’t smirk at him or chuckle. His smile grows even more fond and loving and then he’s leaning in! Virgil freezes up as Remus’s lips meet his own in a soft whisper of a kiss—_

“Virgy, wake up!”

“Leave me alone, Dad,” Virgil rumbles back sleepily.

Remy pouts. “Babe, come on, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Virgil pulls the covers over his head. “And _don’t_ call me that.” This is too early, even for Remy! What the hell? "Who are we meeting _this_ early?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please grill for typos.


	4. Meeting Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And...the moment you've been waiting for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Longer chapter, sorry for the wait, guys.

Chapter IV: Meeting Roman

“I keep telling you!" Remy says exasperated as they walk to Starbucks for breakfast. "I want you to meet everyone."

Virgil subconsciously wipes the corners of his mouth, hoping there’s no dried drool or _any_ signs of sleep on his face. He's just not one for surprises, okay? Especially this early on a Wednesday. And if Remy is _setting him up_ … "You're not walking me into a date or anything, are you?" he wonders. A breakfast date is always a bad idea. Both parties are usually cranky, having not woken up fully yet to talk. It's even worse when one person _is_ a morning person. He hopes Remy is taking him out for something cool, like meeting Joan and Talyn. It'd be nice to meet them before the party. _No, Remy would tell me if it were Joan and Talyn_ , he decides.

"I'm surprised you even entertain the idea of dating someone," Remy mutters, holding the door open for him.

Virgil shrugs, knowing work is a priority. "Maybe after I land a—" _Oh, no_.

Blondie from the other day looks up from a tablet and an iced latte. He scowls. "Oh, there you are, Virgil," he accuses in English pompously. "Still ignoring my email?"

 _Please tell me Remy did not drag me here this early to meet_ you _, Blondie_. "I'm guessing you're Devlin Herron."

Blondie crosses his arms. "I'm being extraordinarily generous when I tell you the offer is still on the table. A simple _yes or no_ question will suffice."

 _Question?_ "You mean 'answer'?" His brain is beginning to come online in this frigid air conditioning.

Herron stutters and after a funny moment he waves it away. "Never mind! Ghosting a job offer is serious, you know. After all, it’s not like hundreds of applicants are applying for the same positions or anything.”

“Yet, you’ve singled me out,” Virgil observes.

“ _Because_ hundreds of candidates never get questi— _answers_ from employers to begin with, yet _you_ —"

Remy perks up. "You offered him a job?" Before anyone can answer, he pulls Virgil away. "He offered you a job and you didn't tell me?!"

“Oh, what? Was I _supposed_ to tell you about every offer I get?” Virgil hisses back. “It’s only _half_ a job! It's videography, not exactly solid work."

"It's _something_! Why didn't you answer?" Remy whispers. "Videography is ten dollars an hour!"

He stares at Remy.

Remy rolls his eyes behind those shades of his. "Look I know, just say yes!

"It's at the Palace! I don't want to work with Remus! That's gonna be...weird."

"Kid, we all work weird, awful jobs at first. Grow up."

"No, really! It'd be _way_ too weird." He wants to say more, explain himself. He wants to tell Remy about the dream he just had, how something didn't feel right about it, how something isn't right about Remus. How he wants Remus to look at him like that, kiss him even, and also how he recoiled. How he didn't know whether he froze up when their lips met out of horror and disgust or surprise and shock… Okay. _Maybe_ he didn’t want to tell Remy _every_ thing about crushing on Remus, because he totally _isn’t_ crushing on Remus! But, whatever. Virgil reminds himself that they're not friends, especially _now_ after Remy has told him to grow up just to pressure him to say yes to Herron. They're _roommates_. It’s just some meaningless dream anyway, goodness. He shivers, cold suddenly. Surely, he isn't imagining the icy fog creeping down out of the vents across the floor. "Besides, you hate Remus!"

Remy crosses his arms. "I hate Devlin, too."

"Thanks," the man pipes up. "You know I can hear you two, right?"

"You can get a better job later. The point is getting _a_ job right now," Remy scolds him.

"Jesus, Remy!" He takes a step back. His head spins at how fickle and pushy Remy is. "Who's side are you on?" At this point the café is filled with icy fog and he can see every breath they’re taking.

"Do you want the job at the Palace, or not?" Herron interrupts, annoyed.

A beat of silence passes. Virgil scoffs, trying to force away his feelings to answer. "I—"

"Do you want the job, or not?"

Remy's had enough of this. "Of course, he does!"

"Good. You start Monday. We'll train you. Do you have a DSLR?"

Virgil glares daggers at Remy. "No," he answers.

Herron looks down to type something. "Hmm. That's going to affect your compensation. Your starting pay will be nine dollars an hour until further—" A door slams in a puff of fog and there's no Virgil in sight. Herron turns to Remy. "Is he always this temperamental?"

"Gurl, I don't think _I've_ fully even met him yet," Remy answers.

The door is flung open and the fog recedes. And Roman rushes in, forgoing his usual greetings with, "Is he here?"

Remy fights an oncoming smirk. "Someone's desperate."

Customers complain about the heat as the door is left open.

"Remy, come on! Where is he?"

Remy's shifting his weight and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. Oh, this isn't good. "Actually, he's—"

"Leaving," Herron supplies. "He just left." He loudly finished his iced latte.

"What?!"

"Don't worry, you'll find him at the Palace."

"You, shush!"

"Seriously. He's Remus's videographer."

Roman groans as he plops down onto the sofa in the Castle’s café. “Why am I the last to know everything?”

Remy sits next to him. “Relax, gurl, I did my best to bring him to you. Maybe I could have… not _encouraged_ him to take the job,” he admits, “but come on! We’re running out of f-ing food! I even got _pizza_ , and that was just to bribe him into going to Joan and Talyn’s party. Not like he’ll show _up_ now.”

Roman groans into a pillow behind him. This is ridiculous. “Why does love always make me _crazy?_ ” he asks. Why is he getting so worked up over some boy who might not even be gay?

“Roman, you’ve always been crazy, both you _and_ —”

“I get it.”

“You don’t think you’re honestly getting a little clingy?”

“My brother is the embodiment of the word,” a female voice confirms.

Roman leans up. There in all her beauty stands his sister Valerie. She and Roman share the same bright green eyes, brown hair, tan skin, and, as Roman puts it, “general regal appearance” but that’s where most of the similarities end. She was small and delicate, and a curvy compliment to her brothers. “Always getting worked up over some new guy.”

Roman wants to protest, but Valerie gives him _the look_.

“Does _every_ one know?”

“Roman, even Mother knows,” Valerie confirms, and if Mother knows, that’s half of Raines already. Valerie sits across from Roman and places a first draft of a script down on the coffee table. “Ro, you’ve never even met him, and you’re obsessed. You’re acting like a teenage girl fawning over her idol.” He’s about to let out an offended Princey noise, and to throw some barbs at her in return, but she’s right. He’s wasting all this time _fawning_ over someone who obviously doesn’t return his affections. Even if the thought of Remus corrupting him, _poisoning_ him against him makes his _blood boil_ —

“Val, I’m not obsessed.”

Valerie gives a small smile. “Ro, I’m telling you as my favorite brother that you’re crushing way too hard.” Her smile falls. “Plus, you haven’t completed your review of the first draft yet, and it better not be curtains because of a certain purple distraction.”

“Oh, do you mean it? I’m your favorite brother?” Roman teases.

“Roman, don’t change the subject! Just review the script by Friday.”

“Roman, I forbid you from hitting on Virgil Thomas,” Remy says suddenly. “He’s not a very social person anyway. You’d probably be doing him a favor if you left him alone for a while.”

Roman pouts. “Well, your setup didn’t work. He was gone by the time I got there.”

Remy stands to take his shift. “Whatever. Just don’t go out Friday. It’ll be a tremendous waste of your time even if he _does_ show.”

“Friday, Friday,” Roman chants softly as he lays down. “Everything’s on Fridays!”

“Don’t blame me, babes,” Remy calls over the counter. “It’s just the Rules.”

“Roman,” Valerie says. “I know Mother always insists upon love at first sight, but it has to be a two-way street, you know. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be, even in little Raines. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere, he lives here! You’re bound to run into him eventually. I wouldn’t dwell on him too much.”

No. He shouldn’t! He _is_ bound to meet Virgil; he _is_ Remy’s roommate after all. He can’t let some foolish crush run away with his mind—fate would decide if they should be together. Until then he will think of Virgil _no more!_ He needs to relax, he decides, and for Roman, the best way to that is to socialize!

The most nerve-wracking thing for Virgil is to socialize, and now _this_. It’s unbelievable how exhausted he already is after Remy pulled _this_ stunt. It’s already raining before Virgil reaches the library with his breakfast. He’d walked across town to Panera Bread for food. All he can think about is _Remus, Devlin, and now Remy!_ and the ever-present rains. Why does it always seem to rain on him? He’s even more bummed out at not seeing Patton at his desk up front, the one person he wanted to talk to. He almost stomps up the stairwell to hide among the bookshelves upstairs to eat in peace. When he opens the door to the fifth floor, he’s greeted with rain, a stormy sky for a ceiling and no shelves in sight, just a big empty room and a table. Figuring this is as alone as he’s going to get, he sloshes his way over to the table to sit. Lighting illuminates the sky as he lays his head on his arms. He should really eat before his breakfast gets soaked, but by the time he sat down, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

A few minutes later, he stuffs the empty bag in a trashcan and reenters the stairwell to leave. He’s greeted by warmth and the sound of Patton’s voice a few stories down. He’s already beginning to dry off.

“Did you like Tocqueville or Weber better?” Patton asks someone.

“I enjoyed reading both works. I chose Tocqueville’s analysis of the tyranny of majority for my thesis, but Weber offers a broader range of topics to back up my point. Personally, I find Weber a little depressing albeit motivational,” a prim, intelligent, deep voice answers.

“Me, too, about the ‘depressing’-part,” Patton replies, “but I like his breakdown of how every culture and person is different. Oh, and how he picks apart religions. Lo-Lo, you should take Abbott’s class next semester! He’s a little loud and eccentric, but he’s one of my favorites! I had him for Classical Soc’ Theory.”

“I remember Abbott. He managed to keep even Remy awake. He found him terrifying, but how he passed with flying colors coming in late every morning I’ll never understand.”

Virgil chuckles at the nerds as he reaches the third floor, completely dried off. He wants to keep hearing this dude throw shade at Remy but he’s already too close. They must have heard him because now there’s scrambling below him, and someone utters a swear. Amused, Virgil descends slowly to give them time to stop… _whatever_ they’re doing. On the second floor he finds Patton in the process of shoving a brown bag and some food wrappers in a bookbag and the other man reading, a fountain soda cup next to him. The _scandal_. “Hey, Patton,” Virgil says softly.

Patton looks up and freezes, his cheeks flushed prettily. Caught. Relief washes over him as he sees Virgil. “Oh, hey, kiddo!” At least their clothes look neat, but Virgil is amused to find the _illicit activity_ he’s trying to cover up is eating food in the library. _God_ , Patton’s adorable. The other guy hiding a smile from him behind his book must think so, too. “It’s nice to see you again!”

Virgil’s cheeks heat up. “Thanks. Uh, you, too.”

“Oh! This is Lo… -gan. I mean— This is—” _Logan_. Virgil recognized him almost immediately and yet his image of Logan was totally blown upon seeing him. Patton described him way differently, like they were twins. Welp, _that_ was misleading; in fact, if Patton were Daisy Buchanan, Logan would be Jordan Baker. The contrast between them is frightening. Patton is a softy with his unruly, dirty blond curls, big Harry Potter glasses over his brown eyes, little nose and rounded features, pastels, khakis and Converse. Logan has neat, straight, dark brown hair, strict rectangular-shaped glasses, cool blue eyes, and hard, angular features—a handsome nerd. In fact, he’s about as handsome as Remus. And he’s pretty much dressed in black—a black polo shirt with a stripped blue tie, dark jeans, and—are those combat boots? Logan looks so much older than and simultaneously the same age as Patton.

“Salutations,” he greets him seriously, as though he and Patton weren’t sitting here giggling, gossiping and gobbling food a moment ago.

“H-Hi,” Virgil answers.

“Lo, this is Virgil Thomas,” Patton tells him politely.

Let’s see… Virgil knows they’re both nerds and fencers, are in fact the same age and graduated with Bachelors in the same year, love books, love Remus’s brother, Roman, work at the Castle, and that Patton is so weak for him he’s surprised Logan isn’t here holding him up in just a _sitting_ position.

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitches, as though he can hear what he’s thinking. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you,” Logan reassures him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Logan Sanders.”

 _That’s right!_ Virgil remembers. _Logan Sanders, the guy from the Olympics!_

The shock must have shown on his face because Logan smiles guiltily.

“So, how is the videography position working out, kiddo?”

“Oh, I start on Monday.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“I guess.”

“Aww, are you okay?”

“Hey, Patton, you know everyone here, right?” Virgil inquires instead.

“Oh. Uh, Logan might!”

“Who are you looking for?” Logan asks.

“Do you know these two people, Joan and Talyn? Jake Remington brought them up.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “You mean _Remy_?” he corrects.

“Aww! We love Joan and Talyn!”

“And, yes, they were in several classes with us at HU,” Logan replies. “They’re moving away next week. Why do you ask?”

“Remy wants me to meet them at their party, but I suck at parties.”

Logan shrugs. “Alright, but what does this have to do with us?”

Patton giggles. “Obviously, he wants us to introduce him, Lo. We’re going anyway.”

“I don’t know.” Virgil sits opposite them on the platform. “Remy wants me to meet them, but we’re in a weird place right now because of rent and he says I’d feel better about living here—‘cause I’m new here,” he adds quickly, “—once I got to know everyone.”

Logan ponders this a moment. “Remy’s true intentions would depend on how much he’s told you about Raineboro already,” he decided. “Most likely, he’s leading you to Joan and Talyn because they are the best people to go to in order to learn more about Rules. Because of their experience in dealing with them, they navigate through Raineboro the best. A connection with them would be ideal, _but_ Joan and Talyn are still moving.”

“Learn the rules?”

Logan rolls his eyes. “So, Remy didn’t tell you. Oi.”

“It’s kind of a long story, kiddo.” Patton turns to Logan. “Should _we_ be the ones to tell him?”

Tell him _what?_

Logan appears to tense up a bit, but he sighs. He takes Patton’s hand. “I suppose he’ll learn one way or the other.” Logan leans back into the wall. “Raineboro has a sort of moral compass that Joan and Talyn are more acquainted with than any other Raines residents, including, admittedly, myself; but the Rules of Raineboro are simple. The first of which is Raines appeals to all its residents. The rain that soaked you on the fifth floor was a real reflection of your emotions,” Logan elaborates.

Virgil stares. “You… _know_ about that?”

Logan nods. “It can be a bit of a shock for newcomers.”

“Yeah, I _got_ that.” He really doesn’t, not completely. He’s more relieved than anything and glad he isn’t going insane. Seeing Remus for the first time, fighting and avoiding Remy, and now the stunt Remy pulled at Starbucks—it had rained _all_ of those times. And when he was nervous about meeting “Jake Remington”, he met Remy _right away_ at Starbucks. Also, if the whole “appealing to its residents”-part is true, that would explain also how he landed a job so quickly. “But why does this keep happening all at once?” Virgil asks.

“Well, you seem to hold a significant amount of emotional sway over the weather patterns of Raineboro. I’ve observed it since you arrived. Though it probably would have rained regardless; Raineboro is famous for its frequent on-and-off thunderstorms, but they’re relatively easy to deal with.”

“Also, the storms have a way of bringing people together,” Patton muses.

“More to the point,” Logan continues, “as a new resident, it is not uncommon to feel out of place while settling into a new home. Emotional distress is especially expected here in a place as strange and fascinating as Raines. The town seems to be empathizing to your emotional state.”

“So, if I want it stop raining all the time, I just… snap my fingers?”

Logan smiles. “The Rules are not that finite, Thanos,” he teases. “You can repress them, but you don’t really just _stop feeling_ an emotion no matter how inconvenient they are. The best thing to do is let them simply come and go.”

“That brings us to Rule Number Two!” Patton chirps. “Emotions are everything. How are you feeling right now?”

“Awful, like I have no control over anything. Especially now that it seems like this place is either incredibly haunted or some weird LARP game.”

Logan laughs out loud, and it really softens his features for a moment. Maybe he and Patton were a little alike. Meanwhile Patton coos.

“Oh, that’s not true.” Patton places a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You have control over yourself, kiddo. Why not try making up to Remy?”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Virgil complains to Patton as they walk with Logan toward Joan and Talyn’s house.

He feels a few drops hit his face as he walks, but he’s prepared with his raincoat and Converse. They dry pretty quickly so Virgil can leave pretty much whenever he wants. But he has two friends to go with, so his chances of bailing were much lower, and he really needs to get out of the apartment more. Logan and Patton were on Virgil’s side when he’d explained Remy’s betrayal, but then they said Virgil should have said no and that he can’t be too mad at Remy. He hates that they’re right, but he has a job now. “Why wouldn’t Remy tell me about the Rules?”

Patton nudges his shoulder. “He was probably nervous, Virge.”

“Imagine how you would have reacted if the first interaction you’d had with your new roommate would be the explanation of the seemingly supernatural forces at work in town,” Logan adds. “I, personally, found it distressing upon learning that—” he shudders “—my _feelings_ could be so obvious to others. It was even more difficult explaining a phenomenon as peculiar as this to Patton when I still don’t understand all of the Rules myself.”

Patton scoffs. “Listen to him, as if I had a hard time believing him when I’d seen things happening _myself_.” He snuggles Logan to his side.

“True, but he had _all week_ to tell me. Now, I’m armed with nothing.”

“You have us, kiddo. We’re awesome!”

Logan turns away slightly, blushing.

Virgil smirks at him. “Friendship is magic?”

“ _Raineboro_ is magic!”

“ _’Magic’_ is a strong word, Patton,” Logan counters.

“But it _is!_ We got to go to school here and meet Roman, and you got to compete in the _Olympics—_ the Olympics, Lo!—we both have great jobs and friends here—”

“If it’s that great, it’s a wonder Joan and Talyn want to move away.” He’d meant it as a joke, but—

"Talyn was offered a more permanent position in Philadelphia. Joan will still work here in town, but they want to move with their partner. Further, the Rules affect everyone differently, we will all have different… expressions of emotion _naturally_. It is unlikely Raineboro itself would drive them away.”

“No, of course not! You’ll see, kiddo! Raineboro is one of the coolest places in the world.”

Virgil smiles at these two nerds as they approach the house. He can feel the music and hear people getting drunk and having a good time before he can even see it.

Virgil is dressed in the most cheerful clothing he owns—a soft lavender hoodie, dark blue jeans, and studs, and he actually put an effort in with his eyeshadow. He wants to appear as a blank slate, but he keeps regretting not wearing the black plaid sweat jacket he has at the apartment. The party is ten times easier attending with Patton and Logan. Patton is a ray of sunshine and Logan really does know _every_ one here and introduced him to Joan and Talyn. They were both into plays and musicals, which is how they met Roman and Remus, they listen to emo bands and make music, they help their friend Thomas, a “Vine guy”, make videos on YouTube, and they were going to move back to Florida in about a year to continue to help Thomas. For now, Talyn has a project to work on in Philly and Joan is moving to be with them and help write. Virgil’s sorry to see either of them go, especially after explaining the Rules to him, but he adores their love for each other. It’s adorable, okay?

Ironically, the only person he _doesn’t_ see here is Remy.

Remus is, though. He didn’t spot at first, and now he’s only a few feet away! _What’s_ he _doing here?!_ Something about Remus showing up here does a mix of things for Virgil, on one hand it calms him down to know arrogant, loud Remus actually condescends to socialize at a Solo-cup party. On the other hand, it confuses him. Virgil notices now just how quiet he is. No loud, boisterous gossip or rudely shoving people aside. He’s almost a shadow at Virgil’s side… that is until he inches a few feet closer and _Ah, shit_ , he needs a way out of this…

Roman had barely gotten a drink when Logan tapped his shoulder with a “Guess who’s here.” And there he is! The Purple—uh, _Virgil_ again. He looks even lovelier than the last time they saw each other. He’s small and soft-looking in his pastel hoodie. When he smiles at something Joan says he looks radiant, almost approachable, like he won’t bite his head off if he decides to say hello. Mustering his courage, he tries to catch his eye. He desperately hopes he doesn’t look like a creepy stalker. Finally, he’s just a few feet next to him. He takes a deep breath. _This is it, just say hi_.

He takes a step closer. “Hey,” he says. ~~~~

Virgil stares at him. “No.”

Well, he didn’t _exactly_ bite his head off, but Roman reels for a moment at how immediate Virgil’s rejection is. That was— _painful_ and… that’s never happened before. “Okay.” He turns to leave but then remembers his mission. He’s not here to fawn over him! He just wants to introduce himself. That’s all he has to do, just tell him his name. He turns back to find Virgil standing, turned slightly away from him with his eyes closed.

Virgil didn’t mean that. The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it, defending him albeit slighting him. He doesn’t know what to think at the idea that Remus will never talk to him again—

“Actually, uh,” Roman begins again slowly, “you’re Virgil, aren’t you?”

Virgil turns to Roman again. He looks surprised he didn’t scare Roman off. His dark, brown eyes look him up and down, scrutinizing. “…Hello,” he utters in return, just loud enough to be heard.

 _Wow, even his voice is attractive_. It’s soft and deep, and a little raspy. It’s doing things to him already. “Sorry!” Roman lowers his voice. “Sorry, I, uh—” _Name, genius!_ “I’m—” but his brain can’t conjure an answer. He sighs in defeat. “Goodness.”

Virgil smirks. “Hello, Goodness.”

Roman is not melting. He _isn’t_.

Virgil isn’t prepared for the soft, grateful little smile on Remus’s face at the joke, or for him to be so flustered. He could probably have any girl or boy he wanted. Except Virgil, no matter how amazing that smile is, or how pretty his warm, emerald-green eyes are. He’s _amusing_ , sure, but Virgil’s still searching for a way out of this conversation…

“S—Well, how are you?” _Roman,_ what _?!_ “I mean— _yes_ , ‘how are you’ but I’m—It’s nice, the party.”

Virgil’s smirk softens into a sympathetic (and _not_ endeared) smile. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please grill me for typos.


End file.
